


fading

by lester_sheehan



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lester_sheehan/pseuds/lester_sheehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellie convinces Alec to have the needed operation, but things don't quite go to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fading

“Oh, stop being so stubborn,” she mutters, shaking her head at his futile attempts to drop the subject. “They said the surgery is now your best bet.”

Alec fidgets with his tie and grunts beneath his breath. “I’m fine.”

Looking up from the floor, Ellie meets his eyes with a disbelieving look. “With all due respect, you almost collapsed on me the other day, sir.”

The memory causes him to wince, both in shame and remembrance of the pain that had gripped him. It was happening far too much lately. “That’s what they say now,” he says, “but a few weeks back, it would have killed me.”

He drops his tie and walks out of the room, leaving Ellie calling from behind him. “Fine, but if you’re going to die, don’t do it while we’re busy,” she huffs.

“I’ll try my best.” His voice is gruff despite the joking matter.

***

“Miller, if you go on about this one more time…” Alec trails off, pausing the TV to stare at her exasperatedly.

Ellie shifts in her seat and picks at the pillow’s edge. “They said you’d die without it, and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

Alec stretches his back and places his arms behind his head, kicking his feet onto the table. He reaches for the remote again, but Ellie grabs it first. She raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He simply stares at her before taking a deep breath in. “I don’t need it.”

“Fine,” she says again, much like before. The conversation never seems to lead anywhere of note.

“Uh, Miller?”

“What?”

He points to the remote, but she makes no move to pass it back. “Well, if you’re going to die, I suppose you should at least let me choose the programme.”

He’s asleep within the hour.

***

They sit outside the hospital, waiting silently in the car. Ellie rests her hands on the wheel, then her lap. The air is tense. “You know it’s the right thing to do,” she says, turning to face him.

He grunts a response, running a hand down his beard. “I suppose.” He looks out of the window, eyes fixated on something- or nothing- in the distance.

Pursing her lips momentarily, Ellie stares at the building ahead, then back to the man next to her. “Shall we go in then?” she smiles.

“Give me a minute, Miller,” he says, nodding for her to go on.

After a moment’s thought, she agrees, stepping out of the car. As she walks towards the hospital gates, she glances back with caution. But Alec is already walking towards her.

***

On the day of his operation, they’re in the kitchen, Ellie desperately rifling through his cupboards. “Do you ever eat?” she complains, finding little more than a breakfast bar.

He glances up from his phone. “No one asked you to be here, you know.”

“I know,” she says, defensively. “But no one asked me not to be.”

Alec is silent in response, pretending to be absorbed in whatever graces his screen. This earns a small smirk from Ellie, which he brushes off with a shrug and mumbled insult.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her bustling about the room, gathering scraps of paper and throwing them into her bag. After what feels like an eternity, she says, “Ready?”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Alec says, refusing to meet her eyes. “What if they’re wrong?”

Ellie stops and comes to a still. “They won’t be.” A beat. “What other choice do you have?”

***

She’s reading a magazine when the door opens, sombre footsteps walking her way. She only glances up once they stop before her.

“Ma’am,” the doctor nods. Ellie smiles in return, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m afraid things aren’t quite going as planned. There is a team of experts working on your friend right now, trying to the best of their ability, but-”

Ellie doesn’t move, doesn't blink. “Don’t say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She takes a step back and suddenly breathing seems so difficult. Trying to control her panic, she straightens up. “Can I see him?”

***

The lighting makes him look even worse. His face is pale, hollow. The bones of his cheeks are prominent against his skin. Ellie holds back tears as she walks towards his bedside, wiping the hair from his eyes. As he glances up at her through half-closed lids, she says, “I told you to get this cut weeks ago.”

“Kept it like this just to annoy you,” he slurs.

Ellie rolls her eyes and nudges his arm. “Not even going to offer me a seat, huh?”

He laughs, but the sound is sore, as though the action took more effort than it should have done. His breathing is shallow, and Ellie is close enough to audibly hear it.

“I’m dying, Ellie,” he says, a trickle of blood trailing from his nose. She wipes it with her thumb and stares at him, hard.

“You’re not.”

“I’m sorry,” he insists, and she can’t help but notice how vulnerable he looks in that moment.

She shakes her head in anger, tears silently falling down her cheeks. They drip from her neck onto his face, splattering his skin with drops full of sadness and turmoil and guilt. “Don’t do this to me, sir. Don’t bloody do this. I can’t- I can’t have another person’s death on me.”

His voice is nothing, a whisper against the air. “None of it was your fault, Miller.” It’s strained, painful to hear. The breath of a dying man.

As his eyes start to close, Ellie places her hands around his face. “No,” she states, so sure, so determined. “You stay awake. Do you hear me? You open your eyes or, God help me, I will bloody kill you.”

A small smile appears on his lips, and a choked sound escapes. She moves one hand to squeeze his. “Trust you,” he rasps, “to threaten a man on his death bed with death.”

Ellie laughs for just a second, but the sound soon merges with shaking breaths and broken sobs. Alec winces, and he’s unsure which part of the heart the pain is coming from. His soul feels as if it’s being torn from his chest, taking with it all that he ever was. All that he’d ever felt.

Back in Sandbrook, he’d promised himself one thing: don’t let anything- anyone- else get to you. And now, as he lay struggling for air in the sweat-ridden sheets, he realises just how much he’d failed.

His chest constricts, the snake wrapped around his heart, eating away at the muscle and blood, finally done with its feast, and he feels himself falling fast. His vision is blurred, his senses lacking. There’s nothing left of him. No more left to take.

He can’t see her anymore, and a small part of him is glad. He can no longer see her tears, hear her smothered cries. Instead, he focuses on the constant solidarity of her grip, holding his hand with the force of a thousand armies, determined to keep him here. Keep him alive.

If only willing something made it happen.

Her hold on him is fading, as though their hands can’t quite touch. He wants to be closer, to feel the heat of her skin and the flow of her blood, but his body is frozen.

Seconds pass, and soon all that he can feel of her is a lingering aftershock, a memory of fingers once locked tight around his palm. And after all this time, he feels the trace of a tear on his cheek, feels its wet pathway. He can’t deny that it’s his own.

With his final breath, he pictures her face, followed by his daughter’s loving gaze. The view is hazy, clouded by redness and encroached by the dark. At peace, the rise and fall of his chest ceases.

**Author's Note:**

> A small idea I had. It turned out a lot sadder than I'd expected. If you like it, please don't hesitate to let me know!


End file.
